DCI Isaac Cook Box Set 1

offered encouragement.
Sophie White proved to be a good witness with a remarkable skill. She had a photographic memory and was able to give an accurate description of what she had seen. She was able to remember the detail in the clothes of the assailant, the scuff mark on his shoes, his hair, which side it was parted, what colour and so on. It had been half-light, dusk when the attack had taken place. She had not seen the attack although she had seen the blood. As she explained, it happened all too often in the neighbourhood. Normally, she would not have stopped at the shop across the road from the alley, but she was feeling at ease, and her sister had asked for some favourite chocolates, not the sort they sold out at the airport.
The hooligan’s name was Michael O’Leary. He had been born in the area, ran with a gang of ne’er-do-wells down by the water’s edge. Nineteen and barely literate, apart from a few run-ins with the police he had not been in much trouble. He was of a lost generation with no hope of redemption. He had been cocky in his early teenage years, bragging about why he didn’t need an education and how he had wagged school. ‘What do those cock-sucking teachers know? It’s out on the street that matters,’ he would say.
Those he bragged to had ended up on the street as he had, indulging in gang-related warfare, partaking in petty theft when they could, and major theft if they had the brain power for such an activity, which most did not.
It transpired that he had got a casual job as a runner for an illegal gambling syndicate. They would organise the dogs for fighting in an old warehouse close to the docks. He would collect the money, transport it as required, and receive a commission for his efforts. He thought he was smart in creaming off another one per cent. It was an easy scam, virtually undetectable. An intelligent person could have made an easy one hundred pounds every few days, but O’Leary was not smart; he had got the percentages wrong. He had taken ten percent, due to his inability to listen to the ‘cock-sucking teachers’ that he had been so critical of.
The syndicate knew immediately. They sent in one of their people to teach him a lesson: a severe beating, a few broken bones and don’t do it again. The story once they had picked up the killer – a standover merchant from up north – was that he had been brought down by the syndicate. And that O’Leary was not willing to take his punishment and had drawn a knife. The killer stated it was self-defence; he received ten years for manslaughter.
Sophie and Isaac became an item, and she had moved in with him for a while. A brutal childhood, a violent marriage in the past – domesticity did not suit her. She felt love for Isaac, he felt a fondness for her, but she could not commit and had decided that she needed a man and sex, but on her terms.
She and Isaac had formed a deep bond, and a phone call from either would often result in a coupling of bodies, no commitment. It suited Isaac, although he found sex without love intimidating. For Sophie, it proved an ideal arrangement.
She had sent the ‘see you in one hour’ SMS.
***
The next day Farhan met Robert Avers, the now apparently long-suffering husband of the missing woman. This time, Avers had agreed to meet at his house in Belgravia. The detective inspector was more relaxed than in his previous encounters with the husband, and certainly more sober than their time at the Churchill Arms in Kensington. He did not want to repeat that experience.
Avers, accommodating as usual, welcomed him into the house. ‘Detective Inspector Ahmed. Pleased to see you.’ Still polite, still friendly, but the previous bon vivant was missing. The man, dressed in a suit, had a dejected appearance.
‘Detective Inspector,’ he confided, ‘I’m worried. It’s just been too long.’
‘But you said she has done this in the past.’
‘Not for this length of time,’ Avers replied. Farhan could see the man was visibly distressed.
‘There have been more than a few men over the years,’ Farhan said.
‘That’s right…’
‘And ideally, you would have preferred none?’
‘It’s how she’s wired. She needed the men, the thrill, the sexual encounters.’
‘You didn’t approve?’
‘I always assumed the need would pass eventually and then all would be fine.’
‘Has that time arrived?’
‘I believe so, but why this disappearance? I just don’t understand it.’
‘Sorry, I need to ask.’
‘There had been some lovers in the past; some before we met who are now influential men in this country.’ Avers wanted to talk; Farhan willing to let him continue. Avers was tense, sitting upright on a hard chair in the sitting room; Farhan sat back on the comfortable sofa. His posture looked relaxed; he was not. He switched off his phone. The worst distraction was it ringing at the moment of confession or revelation.

Chapter 9
‘What did you gain from Robert Avers?’ Isaac asked Farhan in the office, their end of day meeting. He was still in a good mood, a leftover from the night before and Sophie.
Farhan had had no such romantic encounter, only a lecture from his wife on why he did not spend more time with the children, how he loved his work more than her, and what time of the night did he think that was to come home?
‘Robert Avers is a broken man, seriously worried,’ Farhan said, although he was distracted. He realised his welcome home of the previous night would only be repeated, once he left the office. He sighed to himself. It was true, he did love his work more than his wife, but then work was exciting, whereas she